


(one of these days) i wish you were a hologram

by groundopenwide



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Pining, Where We Are Tour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-02 21:44:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4074901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundopenwide/pseuds/groundopenwide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Zayn’s stomach churns, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut. “Right now—this is real? I’m not imagining things?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I’m right here,” Niall says softly. “I’m always right here, Zayn. Been here the whole time.”</i>
</p><p>Zayn's been having dreams- dreams that seem so real, he can't even distinguish fact from fiction anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(one of these days) i wish you were a hologram

**Author's Note:**

  * For [burnthebrightlights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnthebrightlights/gifts).



> for burnthebrightlights: i tried really, really hard to stick to your lucid dreaming prompt, but i still don't think this is quite what you were looking for? either way, i hope you enjoy this!
> 
> it's a miracle that i even finished this, honestly. thank you so much to the mods of this exchange for your patience- you guys are troopers, and i really appreciate the flexibility. 
> 
> title taken from _anagram_ by young the giant.

It's right after the show in Turin that Niall kisses Zayn for the first time.

Zayn’s eyelashes are clumped together with rainwater, his jeans melded with his legs like a second skin. He’s tired and shivering as the adrenaline wears off and discomfort replaces it, and all he’s thinking about is a dry shirt and his bunk on the tourbus when a hand latches onto his wrist. 

Niall smiles at him, all white teeth and red-nosed from the cold. His blonde hair droops forward like a wilting flower, hanging over his eyes, and Zayn’s fingers automatically reach out to push it back. He can’t help scratching at Niall’s scalp a bit before pulling away, the gesture earning him a quiet noise of appreciation.

“C’mon, I feel gross,” Zayn says. He jerks his head back towards where the other lads have already disappeared out a back door, but Niall just grips his wrist tighter, keeping him in place.

“In a minute, yeah?” Niall finally releases his hold only for his hand to return a moment later. His wet fingertips touch Zayn’s jaw for the briefest moment, cold and careful, and it sends Zayn’s stomach skyrocketing up into his throat.

“What…” Zayn starts, but he’s cut off by the brush of Niall’s thumb over the corner of his mouth. His teeth clack when he seals his lips shut. 

“I just—” Niall frowns, almost like he’s frustrated with himself. “I gotta do something.”

Zayn’s frozen, his soaked boots rooted to the ground. Niall’s fingers track a stray droplet of water that falls from Zayn’s hair as it slips down his neck, wiping it away. Then, in a flurry, Niall lurches forward and presses his mouth against Zayn’s.

*

When Zayn wakes up, he’s staring at the rust-red wall of his bunk and the blankets are in a wad at his feet. The bus is silent. He can’t even hear Harry’s quiet snores, the only sound the rumble of the engine as they chug across another border into another country that they won’t get to see any of beyond bright lights and nameless faces.

A breath shudders its way into Zayn’s lungs, and he rolls over to bury his face in his pillow, hands clutching around the edges of it. Somewhere in the common area of the bus, his wet clothes are still in a heap on the floor. His hair is still damp against the collar of his shirt from his quick shower to wash off the sticky mixture of sweat and rain from the show. Everything is real except for the taste of Niall on his lips.

It takes Zayn a minute to realize that Niall had never stopped him as they left the stadium, that he’d instead been ten steps ahead and hanging off Louis’ shoulder as they all piled onto the buses in a mess of dripping clothes and exhaustion. It takes him another minute to steady his breathing and his racing heart, and still a moment more to untangle his blankets and curl himself into a ball, Niall’s smile imprinted onto the backs of his eyelids.

*

A beach in Barcelona: Zayn slips his sunglasses down over his eyes and flops down on his lounge chair, the heat prickling against his chest and across his shoulders.

He’s had his eyes closed for all of thirty seconds when someone sits on his legs and pokes him in the stomach—a bony, pink-skinned someone whose freckles stand out against his back after he pushes a bottle of sunscreen into Zayn’s hands and turns to present his skin for the taking.

“I’m dying,” Niall moans. He’s still sitting on Zayn’s thighs.

Zayn sits up as best as he can and tries very hard not to stare at the sprawling expanse of Niall’s shoulder blades. “You’re not dying,” he says, pouring some lotion into his palms and  spreading it between his fingers.

“I’m _dying,_ ” Niall repeats. He shivers at the first touch of Zayn’s hands to his back and then settles again, his torso slumping forward while he sighs softly. “Thanks.”

Zayn just hums, forces his fingers not to linger against the knobs of Niall’s spine or the spots where his ribs dip into his back. “You should just keep your shirt on,” Zayn eventually says, wiping the excess sunscreen onto his own chest once Niall’s skin is covered. “Protect your fair complexion.”

“I’d sweat right through it,” says Niall. He shifts around so that he’s facing Zayn, his legs hanging off the side of the lounge chair. “You’re so lucky you’re permanently tan.”

Zayn snorts. “I’m Pakistani, Niall. Not really that lucky, if you ask me.”

“You are. Everyone else is just stupid.” Niall’s fingers find the heart at the base of Zayn’s abdomen, tracing over it in a barely-there motion. “I like this one.”

“You like all of them.” Zayn’s mouth goes dry, the words coming out softer than intended.

Suddenly, Niall beams at him. “True,” he says. He drags his hand back, but only after brushing it against the waistband of Zayn’s swim trunks. Whether it’s intentional or not, Zayn isn’t sure. “Come down to the water with me?”

“Ni—”

“Just to get our feet wet. Promise.” Niall crosses his heart before standing and offering a hand to help Zayn up. “Please?”

It is awfully hot, Zayn supposes. “Fine.” He takes Niall’s extended hand and climbs to his feet, expecting Niall to release his grip once he’s up and go running towards the water. Instead, he slips his fingers properly between Zayn’s and pulls him gently forward, their toes knocking together in the sand. His eyes lock on Zayn’s, and they stand there for too long, Zayn’s chest seizing up under the weight of Niall’s gaze.

“Niall?” he questions.

The sound of his name seems to shake Niall out of his stupor. He jolts back, smile reappearing a moment later before he tugs at Zayn’s arm. “Sorry! Zoned out for a sec. Let’s go, I’m literally melting.”

As Zayn allows himself to be dragged down the beach, he can’t help but note how the look on Niall’s face had mirrored his expression in Zayn’s dream right before he’d kissed him.

*

Zayn’s just changed out of his concert clothes and stands there in his pants and an old t-shirt when there’s a knock on the hotel room door.

He’s barely pulled it open when Niall comes barreling forward, still in his sweat-soaked vest and jeans from the show. He claps Zayn on the shoulder before plopping down on one of the queen beds, kicking his trainers off as he goes.

“What are you doing?” Zayn asks once he’s shut the door, amusement coloring his voice. He watches from the entryway as Niall lies back and slinks down until only his torso is on the mattress, his feet pressed to the floor to support him. He spreads his arms wide and closes his eyes.

“‘m jittery,” Niall mumbles. “Didn’t wanna sit alone in my room.”

“So you came to share your horrid smell with me?”

They’re between their two shows in Madrid—after this, it’s off to Portugal for one last show and then they’ve got a break before the North American leg, thankfully. Zayn had just been planning on a quiet night, ready to take advantage of an actual bed as opposed to his tiny bunk, but it seems that his plans have been thwarted. He doesn’t mind all that much.

Niall cracks an eye open. “I thought you liked my musk.”

“Not particularly.” Zayn crosses the room to rummage through his suitcase, and a moment later he tosses a pair of joggers at Niall’s chest. “I’ll put on a film.”

“Sick.” Niall tucks the joggers against his chest and wanders into the bathroom. The water turns on a few seconds later, and Zayn makes himself comfortable against a mountain of pillows as he settles in to wait.

When Niall re-emerges, he’s shirtless with Zayn’s joggers slung low on his hips. A cloud of steam follows him, and he hop-skips over to the bed to seat himself at Zayn’s side. He smells of the honey-almond shampoo Zayn uses, and his chest is splotched pink from the hot water and scrubbing himself clean. Zayn clears his throat and has to look away.

“What’re we watching?” Niall asks, oblivious. He steals a pillow from beneath Zayn and pushes it behind himself so that’s he propped up against the headboard.

“ _Stepbrothers_ is on,” Zayn manages, his voice a bit hoarse. 

Niall wiggles around to get comfortable, and when he’s done adjusting himself, he’s even closer to Zayn than before, their arms brushing together. “I’m down,” he finally says. Afterwards, his mouth opens of its own accord, jaw cracking on a yawn. “Fuck.”

Zayn laughs quietly, and Niall tips his head sideways on his pillow to shoot him a sheepish grin. “ _Jittery,_ right?” Zayn mocks.

“I was!”

“Whatever you say.”

Niall just huffs, nudging his toes lightly against Zayn’s calf. “Alright, so maybe I just wanted to come hang out with you.”

The confession sends warmth tingling down Zayn’s spine. “You don’t need an excuse, y’know.”

“Didn’t wanna bug you,” Niall shrugs. He shifts over until he can rest his cheek against the bulk of Zayn’s shoulder, eliminating the little remaining space between them. “You seemed tired.”

“Never too tired for you, mate,” Zayn says softly. He taps his knuckles twice against Niall’s ribs, gentle. “You ready to go home for awhile?”

“I guess.” There’s a pause, and then Zayn feels fingers trailing across his hip, barely grazing it. He attempts to repress a shudder, but it must not work completely, since Niall’s hand stutters in its motion for a beat before hesitantly spreading itself over Zayn’s stomach.

When Zayn looks over, Niall is staring at him, lips parted slightly. His eyes are somewhat hooded, cheeks flushed, and Zayn is trapped. He stares back, can’t help the way his tongue flicks out to wet his lips in nervous anticipation.

“Zayn—” Niall croaks, just as Zayn whispers, “ _Ni—”_

Both of their voices come to a halt, and Niall hiccups out a quiet laugh. “Can I—”

“C’mere,” Zayn mumbles, thumbing at Niall’s chin and tipping it up to slide their mouths together.

His tongue catches the taste of his own mint toothpaste when Niall parts his lips, and then they’re properly snogging, Niall’s fingers pushing at the hem of Zayn’s shirt while Zayn’s free hand clutches at the back of Niall’s head. It’s deep and slow, like they’ve got all the time in the world, and Zayn can’t help but roll over and press Niall further into the pillows, the telly murmuring on, forgotten behind them.

*

A knock yanks Zayn back to the present. He sits up abruptly, chest heaving. His hand comes up to touch his lips, which he swears are still tingling, as the incessant pounding at his door continues.

“Zayn,” Niall calls, voice nearly pitched into a whine. “Zayn, mate, c’mon, I know you’re awake. Don’t make me break down the door.”

The sound of Niall’s voice is too much. Zayn closes his eyes for a solid ten seconds, counting down backwards until he’s (mostly) convinced that he’s not going crazy. Niall wasn’t in his room. He’s outside, he never came in to begin with—

Reality stings, but Zayn swallows the ache and pastes on a smile as he finally opens the door for Niall—a freshly showered and not at all pining after Zayn _Niall_ , a Niall that Zayn’s perfectly content to have in his life, even if not in all the ways that he wants.

*

They finish the Portugal show, and it feels the same as all the others, nothing special to mark the transition from one leg of the tour into another. As soon as they take their final bow, however, all of the adrenaline of the past few weeks vanishes in a flash, and Zayn is suddenly overcome with exhaustion. He staggers offstage behind the rest of the lads, already in the process of peeling off his kit in favor of the hoodie and joggers that will keep him company on the flight back to the UK.

Somehow, Niall ends up beside him a few moments later, still in his show clothes. “You leaving tonight?” he asks, straight to the point.

Zayn musters up the energy to nod, his arms tangled in the sleeves of his shirt that’s only half-off. “Red eye. Should be back in London by early morning.”

When he’s finished peeling off his top, he peers over to find Niall staring at the ground, a thoughtful crease between his brow. Without thinking, Zayn reaches out and pushes his thumb against the skin there. “Alright, Ni?”

Niall finally looks up, shrugging. “Yeah. ’S just always weird going back to an empty flat after all of this, y’know?”

And yeah, Zayn gets it. Even if he can appreciate a bit of quiet and solitude more than the other four, it’s still a shock to return to the eery quiet of his own place. It’s why he ends up at _home_ home more often than not, eager to stuff himself full with his mum’s cooking and listen to the mindless chatter of his sisters.

It’s even harder for Niall, though, since home for him is in Ireland—and he can’t exactly go back without garnering a family reunion, first with a visit to his mum, then his dad, and then Greg and his family. It must be tough, deciding whether it’s worth the fuss just to visit for a week or two.

At this realization, Zayn speaks up, almost without thinking. “You can always stay at mine, if you want?”

Niall blinks like he’s taken aback. “You’re—you serious, mate?”

“Wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

Perhaps it isn’t the best idea, putting himself in the position to be around Niall even more than he already is, considering the fact that Zayn’s emotions seem to be getting the best of him more and more with each passing day—but he also can’t stand the thought of Niall, sad and bored and alone in his flat in London without any family to visit or any friends around to keep him company.

A laugh comes from Niall then, the sound disbelieving. “I don’t wanna intrude.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “You’re never intruding.”

“I know how much you like your breaks, Zayn,” Niall says, softer. 

“Newsflash: I like you, too.” There’s a pause, and then Zayn reaches out to grip Niall’s wrist. “C’mon, bro, just say yes. You won’t be bugging me, swear it on my mum.”

“Don’t bring Trisha into this.” There’s still a glint of hesitancy in Niall’s gaze, but he eventually cracks. “Alright. Okay. But the second you want your space, you tell me, and I’ll give it to you. Deal?”

Zayn smiles like he can’t help it, giving Niall’s hand a squeeze. “Deal. Hope you’re ready to eat a shit ton of takeout.”

*

The first days back home run together, one after the next. Zayn sleeps the majority of them away and hardly sees Niall except on the way to the loo or on his brief trips to the kitchen. The two of them are glued to their respective beds, and it’s not until four days in that Zayn’s energy levels feel replenished enough for him to take a proper shower and get on with his life.

He finds Niall on the sofa watching football and promptly drops onto the cushion beside him, knocking their shoulders together. “Should probably head to the shops today,” he says in greeting.

Niall glances over at him, his smile immediate. “Yeah, okay. Feel better?”

“Much.” There’s a hole in the sweatpants Niall’s wearing, right at the knee, and Zayn pokes at it. “Wanna come with?”

Niall swats his hand away. “In a little while. Wanna watch _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D?_ ”

They stay like that for the rest of the day, curled up in front of the telly and talking quietly over its low volume. At some point, Niall gets his head in Zayn’s lap and his body spread across the majority of the cushions, and Zayn smooths his fingers through Niall’s hair absently. He doesn’t realize he’s even doing it until almost thirty minutes later, when Niall shifts and turns sideways, burying his face against Zayn’s stomach.

His breath is a warm puff against Zayn’s t-shirt, and it’s a little too close for comfort. Zayn swallows thickly. “You good?” he manages to ask.

Niall hums his response, and then—then he literally _nuzzles_ into Zayn’s stomach, his eyes closed and hand tucked beneath Zayn’s thigh. Heat begins to pool low in Zayn’s gut, and he’s not sure how much longer they can stay like this until he’ll literally have to push Niall off of him. 

“Ni—” he starts.

Niall’s eyes blink open, and in a flash, he’s sitting upright. The movement is so quick that Zayn thinks he’s imagining it, until the warmth of Niall’s head is suddenly replaced by the warmth of his entire body as he hoists his leg up and settles himself on Zayn’s lap. He pushes their foreheads together and smiles, grabbing onto both of Zayn’s hands and pulling them until they’re gripping his own hips.

Zayn, meanwhile, goes rigid. His mouth opens and then closes, all of the words seeming to escape him. Niall is _sitting on his lap._ The thought is so wild, he can’t even comprehend it.

Just then, Niall laughs, the sound a gentle stream of air blown out against Zayn’s cheek. “Are you breathing?” he asks softly, laying his palm flat against Zayn’s chest.

“Barely,” says Zayn, running his thumbs over Niall’s waist. “What are you doing?”

Niall shushes him, leaning down to press his mouth against Zayn’s jaw. “Just wanna try something.”

His fingers skate down Zayn’s sides, almost tickling, and Zayn shudders. He noses at the hair behind Niall’s ear, waiting. There’s a touch to his chest, his stomach, and then Niall’s fingers are at his waistband, hovering.

“Go on,” Zayn breathes out.

Niall pulls his head back far enough for their eyes to catch, as if he’s making sure. Zayn knows he must look pretty wrecked already—he can feel how hot his cheeks are, and there’s a restless prickling beneath his skin, one that only Niall could have put there. They stare at each other for a long moment, and then Niall leans in, passing a fleeting a brush of his lips over Zayn’s own.

“Zayn,” he murmurs, reverent, and Zayn just nods. Niall’s fingers hook in his waistband and finally, _finally_ slip inside.

*

A sharp inhale, and Zayn’s awake. He’s awake, sprawled across his sofa with Niall passed out on his chest. _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D_ is muted on the telly.

Unbelievable. Zayn knots both hands in his hair and clenches his eyes shut, desperate to shake the sensation of Niall’s hands on him. This—it’s a full-blown problem, whatever it is. And it’s messing with his head.

He glances down at where Niall’s cheek is smushed against his t-shirt, chest rising and falling in a steady pattern. It’s a sight, that’s for sure, and it causes Zayn’s heart to swell with fondness.

He is so fucked.

*

The rest of their two-week break is a blur. Before Zayn knows it, the five of them are back on a plane and headed for Toronto, where they’ll kick off the North American leg of the tour. 

Niall is practically bouncing in the seat beside him, full to the brim with excitement. Zayn wishes he could muster up the same kind of enthusiasm. Instead, he still feels exhausted, like he hasn’t slept at all over the past couple of weeks. And for the most part, he hasn’t—he’s too scared of what awaits him when he does fall asleep, thoughts of Niall that seem far too real for them just to be figments of Zayn’s imagination.

Something must show on his face in that moment, because Niall reaches over, grabbing onto his hand and squeezing. “What’s up?” he asks, smile replaced by a furrowed brow of concern.

Zayn looks over and tries to smile. “Nothing, mate. Flying, you know how it is.”

Niall doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he slips his fingers between Zayn’s and then pulls their joined hands into his lap, running his thumb lightly over the ridges of Zayn’s knuckles.

*

They’re in a hotel that night, and it’s like deja vu, the knock on Zayn’s door and the bright-eyed Niall that’s waiting for him on the other side.

“Can we talk?” Niall asks, not at all ominously.

Zayn frowns, but opens the door wider. “Is everything okay?”

Niall takes a seat on the edge of the bed and looks back at him, one eyebrow raised pointedly. “You tell me.”

Zayn bristles. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me, Zayn,” Niall says. “You know you don’t have to pretend with me. What’s going on?”

_Pretend._ Zayn stiffens and looks away. “It’s not a big deal, Ni. I promise.”

Silence overtakes them after that. Zayn can feel Niall watching him, searching, but he can’t bring himself to look back. If he does, he’ll break—and if he breaks, he’ll ruin everything. He’ll ruin _them,_ and he can’t let that happen.

After what seems like ages, Niall speaks up again, but his voice is softer. “C’mere,” he says. Then, as an afterthought: “Please?”

Zayn can’t say no to that. He takes a deep breath, then crosses the room until he’s sitting beside Niall, fingers twisted together in his lap. The quiet returns, but it’s less tense this time. A moment later, one of Niall’s hands covers Zayn’s, gentle.

“Look at me?” Niall asks.

He’s so _calm,_ so kind. Zayn worries his lip in between his teeth and looks up, steeling himself. It doesn’t work. The open, caring expression on Niall’s face still manages to knock all of the breath from his lungs.

“I won’t force you to talk to me, because I know you hate that,” Niall explains. “But, like—you know I’m here, right? If you ever need me. You don’t have to go through things alone.”

_I love you._ The words are right there, dangling at the tip of Zayn’s tongue. He forces himself to swallow them back and turns away again, gazing down at where Niall’s palm lies atop his own clasped hands. The touch is solid, grounding, but Zayn can’t shake the fear that Niall’s not actually touching him at all.

“Tell me something,” he finally says.

Niall nods, the response immediate. “Anything.”

Zayn’s stomach churns, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut. “Right now—this is real? I’m not imagining things?”

If it were anyone else, Zayn is certain they would burst out laughing, or at least stare at him as though he’s crazy. Niall does neither of those things. Even without glancing at him, Zayn knows he’s got that look on his face that he gets whenever he’s determined or adamant about something—wrinkled forehead, tight-pressed lips, wide eyes. His hand leaves Zayn’s and moves to his thigh, splaying across it with his fingers tickling the upper part of Zayn’s knee.

“I’m right here,” Niall says softly. “I’m always right here, Zayn. Been here the whole time.”

_Wake up,_ Zayn screams internally. _Wake up wake up wake up wake up._

He waits.

“Zayn.”

Nothing changes. Zayn looks up, and Niall is still staring at him, ever so patient.

“I’m not asleep,” Zayn says slowly.

Niall shakes his head, then quickly pinches Zayn’s thigh. Zayn yelps.

“See? Not sleeping.”

Zayn scowls, and Niall just grins. “Unnecessary.”

“But you believe me now, right?”

“Getting there.”

It’s an honest answer, but Niall still looks skeptical. His eyes flit thoughtfully across Zayn’s face.

“Okay,” he drawls out. “How about after this?”

Two hands are suddenly cradling Zayn’s face, and the movement shocks Zayn into stillness, all of the oxygen leaving him in one long burst. Niall smiles, tongue pressed between his teeth, and then he leans forward. Zayn remains frozen, even as Niall’s eyes droop shut and his mouth finds Zayn’s. His lips are gentle, a bit chapped, and he tastes like his own toothpaste—not Zayn’s.

Niall doesn’t move to deepen the kiss. He just holds himself there, lips covering Zayn’s in a way that’s almost chaste. It’s still more than Zayn could have ever asked for. Better yet, it’s _real._

It’s like an epiphany, every nerve end in Zayn’s body sparking to life. This is really happening. He’s really kissing Niall—his body isn’t waking up, and he isn’t being dragged out of some imagined situation.

He and Niall. _Kissing._

Zayn launches himself forward, then, grabbing the back of Niall’s neck and tugging him in closer. Startled, Niall lets out a little gasp into Zayn’s mouth that turns into a laugh, and Zayn takes the opportunity to really start snogging him, all teeth and tongue and desperation. Niall gives as good as he gets. He crawls backwards onto the bed, pulling Zayn along by the front of his shirt and keeping their mouths connected all the while.

When they’re finally settled, Zayn’s body hovering over Niall’s own, he has to pull back to take a breath. Niall’s cheeks are flushed, his lips swollen, and he smiles up at Zayn, looking unbelievably pleased.

“Believe me yet?”

Zayn silences him with another kiss.


End file.
